


too good to be good for me

by belljar



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Boys In Love, M/M, falling in love is terrifying especially when u feel like u don't deserve it.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:58:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6572548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belljar/pseuds/belljar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam’s a good boy. And Ronan—Ronan has this, now. Ronan can’t believe he has this now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too good to be good for me

**Author's Note:**

> this is for [julia](http://autisticlynch.tumblr.com/), whom i love endlessly. i hope u like this love <3
> 
> unbetaed // characters belong to maggie stiefvater // title from troye sivan's too good
> 
> tw for referenced kavinsky content & internalised homophobia

Ronan is looking at Adam through tired, heavy lids. He’s stretched out on the mattress in Adam’s tiny apartment above the St. Agnes church, pretending to be asleep.

They have two exams left before graduation; but for now it’s Saturday and late enough in the night for the entire world to be quiet and soft. Adam looks soft, too. His face free of furrows and wrinkles, his hair slightly mussed-up; looking worry-free and relaxed.

Ronan wants to punch a wall. He wants to— _whatever_ , he thinks, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s in a bed beside a sweet boy and he’s—it’s a _nice_ boy, and it’s _safe_ , and for the moment he doesn’t _hate himself_. Three things, all equally terrifying. He’s never—for a long time (and sometimes still) the whole thing about it being _boys_ was—was bad. It was bad.

Because there was God, but there were boys too. And he wanted both; he wanted both so bad. But could he have both? Could God love a boy who loves boys – is there a place in heaven for a boy who—for a _boy_ who wants to hold hands with other _boys_?

And then—and then there was the appeal of a bad boy. He got too close and he burned his fingers. He burned his whole body. He still has the scars to show for it.

He remember Gansey, laughing, ‘ _Kavinsky… He thinks he owns the place._ ’ And he remember himself, looking at him with wide eyes though trying to keep everything on the inside, saying, ‘ _you don’t see the appeal_?’ And Gansey had closed his eyes and without even thinking much about it parted his lips and told Ronan the difference between them and Kavinsky. ‘We _matter_ ,’ he’d said and Ronan had swallowed hard.

Because the goddamn truth was, of course, that Ronan didn’t matter, in any context. And he—he saw the appeal of Kavinsky, or whatever. Not that he wanted to but—but _whatever_.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about this. He’s not supposed to be thinking about this. He’s beside _Adam_ – a kind, gentle boy, who’s never done anything Ronan didn’t want, who’s always looked at him with honest eyes and _asked_ : yes or no? Do you want this? Do you want this? Do you want this?

And it’d driven Ronan _mad_. He’d almost—he’d almost cried the first time. Really, he _did_ cry the first time, though hours later. After Adam kissed him, and Ronan pulled away in disbelief, and punched his own thigh four times to check he was really awake, and Adam was still there—he’d left. He’d gotten up and he’d gone to his car and he’d driven to the woods and he’d gotten out and he’d broken down in the middle of nowhere. The tears wouldn’t stop rolling and he couldn’t fucking breathe. He’d pulled away, and Adam had let him. Adam hadn’t—Adam hadn’t pushed, hadn’t pressured, hadn’t—

Adam’s a _good boy_. And Ronan—Ronan _has_ this, now. Ronan can’t believe he has this now.

He thinks of Kavinsky again. Everything bad that _didn’t happen, he refuses to believe happened, didn’t happen, didn’t happen—_

He didn’t want it, he didn’t want _him_. He _did_ see the appeal, at first. Who wouldn’t? The aesthetic, and he was so—he was so _appealing_ , in a terrible way. He didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything. So he wanted the approval of a guy who hates everyone, and maybe – _maybe_ – he wanted the pain, too.

Because of course he knew it’d hurt. He knew it’d fuck him up.

What he really wanted was to softly kiss a sweet boy and bring him home to his mom. He wanted sunflowers, and the flutter of eyelashes, and showing him around his childhood home. But that was—that was a _bad thing_.

There was no place in heaven for that kind of boys so—so, OK, the pain was a part of it too. Maybe he wanted to burn and scar his fingers enough to never dare try touching someone wrong again. Maybe it would—

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anyway.

It’s over and he got fucked up and he’s still fucked up but it _doesn’t matter_. He’s in bed now, beside Adam. Sweet Adam. This could be the happy ending; this could be the sunflowers, the flutter of eyelashes, the soft kissing. Mom’s—mom’s not really here, but until she gets back he can introduce him to Matthew at least. He _has_ introduced him to Matthew, and he loved him. Of course he did. Who wouldn’t?

And Adam is so—he’s so fucking _kind_. And it’s so fucking _foreign_ ; it’s terrifying. There, he said it. Or thought it, whatever. It’s out there now. This is terrifying, it’s scary, it’s—he still wants to punch the wall. He wants to get drunk, and go racing, and—he’s got an abundance of bad coping mechanisms and even that Adam doesn’t scoff at. Even that he somewhat understands. He knows sometimes you have to do bad shit to prevent yourself from doing _worse_ shit. He knows sometimes you have to do bad shit if you want to survive.

Adam has done bad shit to survive, too. They’re both—maybe that’s why they can have this, because they’re both similarly fucked up. Because they’ve both been dancing with some demons and so, in a way, they understand that part of each other, no judgement. It’s not like Adam thinks it’s _nice_ when Ronan gets out the vodka, and obviously he’d prefer if he didn’t; but he doesn’t—there’s no condemning either. And by God wouldn’t Ronan wish Adam never carved words into his own skin, but he gets it. He gets the—he gets the urge to destroy yourself. He gets the urge to draw blood, to remind yourself you exist. He _gets_ it. Adam _gets_ it.

They get each other, that way.

They haven’t fucked. And they’re not going to, Ronan doesn’t think. They’re going to, like, make love, or whatever, something totally sappy and romantic and gross like that. And Adam is going to be patient and sweet and gentle and Ronan is going to want to kill himself.

It’s all so—scary. New. Awful. Fantastic. He doesn’t know what it is; some kind of mixture of everything. A reason to keep on fighting; _survive_. And simultaneously, so goddamn horrifying some days he’d rather drop dead.

He _has_ this. What the hell happened? How did _he_ end up with _this_?

‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you,’ he says, barely above a whisper, and Adam stirs beside him. He blinks his eyes open.

 _Oh fuck_ , Ronan thinks. _He heard that. Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck—_

Adam catches his eyes and holds his gaze for a second. ‘Hey,’ he whispers softly, and Ronan is one second from jumping up and leaving. He’s not sure he can do this.

‘Hey,’ Adam repeats, letting his eyes drop close for a second. ‘I dunno what I did to deserve you either,’ he says quietly, voice thick with sleep and honey-accent. It takes a minute for Ronan to realise what Adam’s even saying. He doesn’t—‘What,’ he says, not able to hide his surprise.

‘You think you’re the only one who’s scared?’ Adam says softly, leaning over and running his finger along Ronan’s arm. ‘You know, it’s not exactly because I think of myself as super fucking _lovable_.’ He lets out a dry chuckle and bites his lip before rolling over and laying his head on Ronan’s chest. He blinks slowly.

‘But–’ Ronan stutters, swallowing. ‘Everything I touch fucking _breaks_.’

‘Not made of porcelain,’ Adam says, smiling and not missing a beat. ‘Ronan, I trust you.’

‘That’s–’ Ronan says. He gingerly tangles his fingers in Adam’s hair, softly. ‘That’s terrible of you.’

‘Hey, you’ve never given me a reason not to,’ Adam says. ‘You’re not going to break me. Plenty of people have tried that, you know? Didn’t succeed. From where I’m lying, I’m the lucky one here.’

‘Shut up,’ Ronan says, rolling his eyes to try to ignore how he’s _kind of_ blushing. Adam is pretty. Whatever. ‘Have you seen yourself?’

‘A couple of times, yeah,’ Adam says, closing his eyes again. ‘What’s your point?’

‘You’re pretty,’ Ronan blurts.

‘You dating me for my looks?’ Adam says sheepishly, looking up at Ronan.

‘ _No_ ,’ Ronan says. ‘I just—you’re not just pretty. You’re, like—you’re the world, you know. You’re so—you’re so _much_. And I’ve done so much bad, _God_ , Adam; I’ve done so much _bad_. There’s been so much blood. So much blood. So much _vodka_. There’s so much—there’s so _much_. I don’t know. I don’t _know_ , I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Whatever, I’m sorry.’ He wants to say that word, maybe, but they’re not there yet. He doesn’t think they’re there yet.

‘Ronan,’ Adam says quietly, rolling over again so they’re face to face, close. ‘You’ve done something bad, but you’ve never—you’ve never done something _bad_. We do what we have to in order to survive, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Ronan agrees, nodding.

‘And besides,’ Adam carries on. ‘I don’t think it’s about deserving. I don’t think you can deserve or not-deserve this, you know? I choose you. I want you. If you want me too, then that’s—you know. I don’t think it’s about deserving…’

Ronan swallows hard and closes his eyes. ‘OK,’ he whispers, moving his hand down to interlace his fingers with Adam’s. ‘OK,’ he repeats.

Adam looks up at him and blinks. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Now, let’s go to sleep.’ He smiles again, then rolls over and curls up closer against Ronan.

‘Yes,’ Ronan whispers quietly into Adam’s hair. He’s in bed beside a nice boy, and it’s _safe_ , and he doesn’t hate himself. It’s good. It’s so good.


End file.
